To Ease A Soul
by Androgene
Summary: Will and Elizabeth are happily married but the past does not let go so easily. Strange dreams and waking visions are costing Will lapses in time and he must seek out Jack once more - for he is the only one left who knew his father.
1. One

Name: Androgene

Title: To Ease A Soul

Summary: Will and Elizabeth are happily married but the past does not let go so easily. Strange dreams and waking visions are costing Will lapses in time and he must seek out Jack once more – for he is the only remaining one who knew his father.

Pairing: WxE (het all the way)

Category: Drama, angst, humor

Rating: R (we're talking about pirates, duh!)

Author's notes: I don't know where the hell this came from. Maybe it's because I keep running into writer's block for my Saber Rider fic, or maybe I've watched POTC one time too many (but four times isn't much, I swear). Anyway, here it is, courtesy of me muse (fickle-minded creature she is). Don't ask me where this is going. I have not the slightest notion, just a vague outline without the pertinent details.

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all related characters belong to Walt Disney. Captain Jack Sparrow, however, is definitely Johnny Depp's. I make no profits nor do I lay claim to these characters. Just having a bit of hobbyish fun with them.

_**~ To Ease A Soul ~**_

**One**

_- What is a dream but another path through reality? -_

What do you do with a drunken sailor?

What do you do with a drunken sailor?

What do you do with a drunken sailor?

Early in the morning?

Shave his belly with a rusty razor

Shave his belly with a rusty razor

Shave his belly with a rusty razor

Early in the morning!

Way-a, hay-a, up she rises

Way-a, hay-a, up she rises

Way-a, hay-a, up she rises

Early in the morning!

It was a good day, a perfect day for sailing. The wind was strong and true, propelling the ship across the dazzling blue ocean in the desired direction. Above, the sky was equally brilliant and cloudless, the hot Caribbean sun shining fully onto the ocean and the ship, allowing the sailors on board to dry out the lingering moisture and chill from the rainstorm of the night before from their clothes.

It had been a good voyage. Three raids on merchant ships had yielded a great deal of booty for them. The holds of the Black Pearl were near bursting with spices from the Indies, silk and china from the Far East, and gold from the Spanish Main. The crew was in very high spirits, eager to return to land to spend their ill-gotten wealth in all manners of debauchery.

He was no less eager to get back to land, though not for debauchery. On this point, he was one unique pirate indeed. His reason was more personal, and one that never failed to sustain him through dangerous raids, hostile weather and becalmed ocean. Whenever he was about to do something 'incredibly stupid', as his captain would put it, that reason would be there, making him think twice, possibly saving him from would-be fatal encounters several times.

Today, he was on his knees and hands, vigorously swabbing the deck together with two other of his shipmates. The other pirates went about their tasks with boisterous energy, lustily singing the boisterous shanty. Even the captain – the crazy coot – sang along as well.

In a way, he enjoyed seeing his captain so carefree. Being reunited with the Black Pearl certainly did the scurvy dog a whole world of good, not that he was currently less crazy or eccentric. Oh no, he suspected the pirate was born crazy. But the captain did seem younger, less…battered – if that was the right word to use – as though the ten years of wandering and separation from the Pearl never happened and took its toil on him.

"Capt'n Sparrow, more rum for ye?" shouted someone.

"An' will ye be shavin' me belly wi' a rusty razor?" came the prompt retort.

Rough laughter resounded across the deck.

"Land 'hoy!" the watch yelled from the crow's nest.

A great cheer rose from the pirates of the Black Pearl. He joined in as well, abandoning his task to hurry eagerly to the railing and clambered onto it, hanging to a taut rope for safety. The land was just a grey smudge on the horizon but it was nevertheless a welcoming sight after months of seeing the even continuous line of the horizon.

"Tortuga," came the low drawl next to him. "By sunset, we be drinkin' an' wenchin' to our weasly black hearts' content."

"If the wind holds."

Jack flashed him a gold-toothed grin. "Ah, but th' wind will hold, mate." He swung down from his perch, landing lightly as he always did on his feet and swayed in his unique gait to the helm. "Question is, can yer patience hold?"

Following closely, he gave his captain a look, which Jack laughed it off. The flamboyant captain of the Black Pearl slung an arm over his shoulders.

"Come now, mate. I know ye dote on th' laddie. Eager for news 'bout him, ol' Jack can tell."

He gave up scowling, letting his lips form a dreamy smile of anticipation instead. His mood was just too good to be ruined by anything, including Jack's needling.

"I wonder how tall he is now," he mused. "She said he's starting to look a lot like me."

"Mebbe so, mebbe not. But ye'll n'ver know."

"Aye." Being a pirate did have its shortcomings. There was no way he could sail home to visit his son without being clapped in irons the moment he set foot on land.

Jack patted him on his shoulder. "Don't be lookin' so glum, Turner. By tonight, th' world sh'll be yer oyster…Well, 'haps only Tortuga, but I assure ye, me good man, tonight we sh'll eat an' drink like kings."

"Aye, like kings." He smiled. "Kings of the ocean."

"Aye, kings of th' ocean. That's th' spirit, matey!" Turning his gaze back to his ship, Jack began barking orders to his crew to get back to work.

Chuckling, he made to return to his chore as well when he saw someone who made his blood ran cold with fear and hate.

"Capt'n, the cook be wantin' a word wit' ye."

He watched in horror and confusion as the man he thought dead, killed by the rightful captain of the ship, walked up to Jack in broad daylight as though he did so everyday. His confusion grew as his captain and friend greeted the man with open friendliness.

"If it's not 'bout me rum, he can talk to ye, Barbossa. Savvy?"

"It's 'bout th' ship's store."

"He can still talk to ye."

Jack! He wanted to scream. Don't trust him! Don't you remember what he did to you?

Jack suddenly turned to him. "Still up here, Bootstrap?"

The name gave him a jolt. Bootstrap?

Suddenly the world tilted and turned unreal, as though made of insubstantial mist. The brilliance of the sunlight dimmed, the vibrant colors of the sky and the oceans faded, became hazy as though wool was being pulled over his eyes. The sounds of the ship and the ocean, once so clear, became muffled and confusing.

Bootstrap…father, came the confused realization. This is a dream.

…_nay, son…_

And Will Turner awoke with a start.

PS: I know the shanty used is a rather modern one. But it seems to fit the tone of the opening.

Go to Two


	2. Two

**Two**

_- This is all I ever wanted -_

Will Turner blinked, unable to remember who he was in that dizzying moment between sleep and wakefulness. In that instance of disorientation, he had the oddest feeling that he was not where he was supposed to be either. Shouldn't the deck be rolling as it usually did on the ocean? His bunk should be as hard as plank and most of all, there shouldn't be soft feminine warmth lying next to him, smelling of lavender.

Will blinked again and the moment passed. Now fully awake, he remembered where he was. In his marriage bed with his wife of one year, in the modest house they had built near to the Governor's.

He turned his head and a soft smile curved his lips as he regarded his sleeping wife. Even now, one year into their marriage, Will still could not believe that this was real, that Elizabeth, daughter of the Governor, not only returned his love but also consented to marry him, a simple blacksmith.

There was not a single day that went by that Will did not count himself a very, very lucky man.

Placing a gentle kiss on her crown of hair, Will carefully extricated himself from her cuddling grasp. Elizabeth mumbled and shifted in complaint but a gentle touch soon soothed her back into her slumber. Stepping slowly and quietly, Will crossed the bedroom and let himself out onto the balcony.

At this early hour of the morning, Port Royal was still and quiet. All law-abiding citizens were in bed, save for those whose duty was to keep watch during the night. From his balcony, Will had a clear view of the ocean. It was one of the reasons why they chose this spot to build their home.

Will took a deep breath, savoring the salty tang of the air. For a heartbeat, he thought he could feel a rolling deck under his feet and the cool spray of the sea on his cheeks before the sensations dissipated like a passing breath. Though he admitted that it ran in his blood, the ocean hardly ever called him as strongly as it did to Jack and apparently to his father too.

Jack was born to the sea, a strange – okay, eccentric – fey creature that knew the ways of the waters better than he did the land. And his father, well, obviously the sea called to him more than his wife and son did, or his mother wouldn't have to raise Will by herself.

Not for the first time, Will wondered if his father had loved him. Was his birth the result of a casual dalliance, as all sailors, pirates or not, were wont to do when in port. Did his father woo his mother properly, or did he seduce her and Will was conceived in a moment of indiscretion? He never knew, for his mother would only tell him about how kind and handsome his father was, and repeatedly told him how his father eked out a living as a respectable sailor (although he knew that to be a lie now). His mother never told him how they had met, though Will remembered asking a couple of times.

There was so much he didn't know about his father; he could barely remember how he looked like. Jack told him once he was the spitting image of his father, but it wasn't good enough. He didn't know what kind of man his father was. A good man, he was told, but what else?

He thought back to the dream he just had. It was so vivid, so real. He had been someone else in that dream, his father to be exact. And he had felt the eagerness of a father craving news of his faraway family.

Will frowned. Did a dream like that mean anything? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Unlike Jack, he had his feet firmly on the ground, figuratively speaking of course. He was a sensible young man, albeit prone to 'rash and stupid actions' as Jack call it, but he was not about to go chasing after the horizon when all he wanted was right here, in the bedroom with him.

A dream was just a dream, a product of his wishful yearning of a father he remembered nothing of and who was dead. There was no point in wondering what could have been. As the parrot would say, 'dead man tells no tales'.

Turning his back on the ocean, Will reentered his bedroom, returning to his wife and to his life.

Go to Three


	3. Three

**Three**

_- If it doesn't fit the rational world, it doesn't exist. Right? - _

Mornings were always Will's favorite time of the day. As it was his wont since he learned the skill, he got up just before dawn for his daily three hours' fencing practice. Down in the small vegetable and flower garden they kept, among the flowering shrubs and benches, he lunged and parried imaginary foes, moving about the circular stone path with a surety of the feet and an agility of the body. He loved fencing – the actions and the need to fully concentrate helped to clear his mind. It invigorated him and put him in a better frame of perspective to face the new day.

By the time he finished, the household would be up, as well as the rest of Port Royal. Elizabeth would be dressing for the day while he set about making himself presentable for breakfast with his father-in-law.

"Good morning, love." He bent down to kiss Elizabeth on her lips while she sat at her dresser. "God, you look beautiful today."

Elizabeth gifted him with a radiant smile. "You say that even when I look terrible."

"But you are beautiful," he grinned.

"Go change." She gave him a playful shove. "You stink."

"Yes, m'am." Will saluted. He ducked out of their bedroom just before the powder puff could hit him.

Still grinning, he went to the bathroom where a bath was already drawn and waiting for him. He dismissed the manservant, more comfortable with handling his bath himself.

Despite being 'elevated' to the upper class through marriage, Will remained a simple craftsman at heart. He felt uncomfortable being waited upon by servants he had more in common with than he did with those of the upper class. Although Governor Swann constantly insisted he change his behavior to suit his new social status, Will was unwilling to give up his independence in his habits. Growing up as an orphan had quickly taught him independency and self-sufficiency in order to survive – both hard lessons to forget.

When he was done, a proper young gentleman stood in the master bedroom, shaved, immaculately cleaned and groomed. He wore a tailored suit that felt rather confining, a starched white cravat that felt more like a noose (was this feeling similar to Elizabeth's corset?) and highly uncomfortable heeled shoes that were supposedly the current fashion in London.

Checking his reflection in the mirror, Will combed and tied his wavy dark brown hair back with a black silk ribbon. He, however, adamantly refused to don a wig.

He would _never_ wear a wig.

It was a sore point between him and his father-in-law, but other than that, their relationship was reasonable. Will understood that Governor Swann loved his daughter and really had nothing against the blacksmith personally. But Governor Swann just could not understand how and why his daughter could fall in love with a simple blacksmith instead of a commodore who was a far better match in every way.

It was the kind of question that sparked off plenty of gossips, romantic or otherwise, in Port Royal. Elizabeth couldn't give a damn (she said it, he didn't) and Will, well, he ignored the rumormongers like he always did. They were in love with each other and happy, that was all that mattered.

Besides, Elizabeth liked to see him without the wig, for the same reason he liked to see her without the corset.

Will abruptly gave his head a good shake. That last thought sounded something like Jack would say. Bloody pirate was rubbing off on him.

…_but a good man…_

Will's head jerked up startled. He automatically turned around, scanning his bedroom. He was alone in his bedroom, as he knew it to be. But he swore he heard a voice just now. His hackles rose. For some reason, he didn't _feel_ as though he was alone.

Uneasy and quite puzzled, trying to shake off the strange feeling, Will slowly turned back to the mirror.

A stranger stared back at him.

It was his reflection, yet it wasn't. The same face stared back at him but the eyes were too old and knowing to match the startled fear that had suddenly seized him.

Will rubbed his eyes and looked again. His disbelieving face stared back at him. Warily, he leaned closer to the mirror.

It was definitely his face this time.

He stepped away from the mirror, out of its field, relieved but completely unnerved. "Just a trick of the light," he said aloud. But his voice sounded unconvinced to his ears.

Most definitely a trick of the light, he thought more firmly. Thus assured, he hastened out of his bedroom, feeling a sudden desire for the company of others.

Go to Four


	4. Four

**Four**

_- Once bitten, twice shy does not apply to him -_

Somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean Sea – well, closer to Hispaniola actually and heading north to Tortuga, was a black ship.

Black, as in black sails and wooden hull darkened so much as to be nearly the same inky hue. When seen from afar in daylight, it was an ominous sight, striking fear among respectable sailors and the King's Navy alike. At night, it became one with the darkness, which made the ship even more dangerous for no one could spot it coming until it was alongside the hapless victim.

They called it the cursed ship, or the ship of the undead. They whispered its name – the Black Pearl – in hushed whispers and furtive gossips. There were stories abound, legends about the ship that grew taller with each telling until facts were no longer distinguishable from fiction.

And they spoke about the Black Pearl's captain in the same manner. They described him as so fearsome that he sacked Port Nessau without even firing a shot, so daring that he fought the undead and won, and so cunning that even the Devil was wary of him. It was widely believed that the captain of the Black Pearl was utterly, completely insane, gone mad from hate and too much sun.

Truth was Captain Jack Sparrow wasn't that crazy; he just liked people to think he was. But he's definitely more intelligent than his looks and speech indicated. Combine the two traits and throw in his complete disregard for character integrity and toeing the conventional lines, what Jack was is an opportunist, be it crossing his way or created by his truly.

Take the stories for example. Their origins came from Jack himself. He told it to his crew, to strangers hungry for good stories in taverns and inns. He seized every chance he got to embellish the stories somewhat (after all, the people wanted to be entertained and he really liked the attention, as well as the rum they plied him with) and let the crowd 'spread the word by mouth'. By the time the stories circulated back to him, he could hardly recognize them as his own creations.

The other thing about Captain Jack Sparrow was he had a knack for discerning the moods and characters of the human nature. It was a hard-learned lesson that began with the betrayal of his mutinous old crew and honed over ten years of wandering and seeking ways to restore himself to his ship. In those ten years, it was probably his main and best tool of survival. By the time he met up with Will Turner, he knew exactly how to play the people around him.

When he overheard Mr. Gibbs telling another one of his wild stories to the crew of the Black Pearl, he paid it scant attention. Gibbs loved his drink and telling tall tales (which could never compare to _his_ tall tales of course). Gibbs wasn't a very good pirate and really quite harmless, but he was a good man, loyal to Jack and that was a quality Jack prized very highly.

But when Mr. Gibbs mentioned the word 'gold', Jack gave him his full attention.

He was a pirate after all.

"-So the Injuns took their gold to a secret island, where no man can find except for their royalty, and buried it there to prevent the Spanish from layin' their filthy hands on every single piece."

Hmmm…every story has a grain of truth in it and this story of Mr. Gibbs might have said grain of truth.

"But that's not all the Injuns did," Gibbs continued.

Of course not, that was what they called upping the stakes. It made for good storytelling.

"What this sailor told me that the Injuns had with them a walkin' dead."

No. Not again.

"And their witchdoctor bespelled the walkin' dead to remain on that island to guard their gold for eternity."

Not. _Another._ Undead story.

"Not 'nother undead story," groaned Marty, unintentionally echoing Jack's thoughts. "We fought th' real thang, 'member?"

Bloody pirates.

"Tis true!" Gibbs insisted. "That scallywag was deep in his cups. He ain't in no condition to lie."

"Stories 'bout th' undead are th' talk of th' town. 'Specially now after wha' we went thru'," Marty countered.

"He's right," Jack drawled as he swayed/staggered his way up to his gossipy crew. "Ev'ryone wants a share of me Black Pearl's fame. But they ain't me nor do they have me ship an' they sure did nuthin' close to wha' we've done." He paused a moment to let that sink in before growling, "back to work, ye scallywags! I want to lavish me swag on some nice whores in Tortuga by week's end!"

Bloody, lazy pirates trying to cash in on _his_ reputation.

There's only one Captain Jack Sparrow and he's it.

Grumbling under his breath about the dire lack of real pirates these days (which was why people were trying to snitch his fame – real pirates would go out and make their own fame at the expense of some honest folk), Jack swayed his way back to the helm as his crew quickly hastened back to their chores.

However, he resolved to keep his ears open for the rest of the voyage and probably in Tortuga as well.

This story of Mr. Gibbs might sound like another imitation want-to-be, but Jack wanted to be sure. He had nothing against seeking treasures really (only the overwhelming greed that could prompt betrayals and mutinies), but pirates were practical and realistic breed and he was no different. Unless he had some kind of solid clue, he was not about to go chasing after what amounted to nothing more than just sailor's talk.

But the moment the story proved to have some basis of truth in it, well, Captain Jack Sparrow would be there to seize the opportunity, all in the name of increasing his Pearl's fame and his reputation.

Of course said treasure was a great motivator too.

But that went without saying naturally.

Go to Five


	5. Five

**Five**

_- An ov'heard conv'sation is not how I start this advent're! - _

If one were to ask Jack much, much later after the adventure had concluded, he would spin a tale about how his sharp intelligence had seen the connection between two disparate and seemingly unrelated events, and thus promptly set about securing his treasure by – never mind, that happened later on in the story. Let's just say his version of the story would put him in the center of the events, which of course very naturally put him at the center of attention during the anticipated storytelling.

But the truth of how he embarked on this adventure was really quite…well, by a chance of luck.

By the time the Black Pearl had made berth at Tortuga, Mr. Gibbs' tall tale was the last thing on Jack's mind. He was too anxious to start the serious business of debauching after three months of abstinence to think much of anything else (which was where AnaMaria came in handy, for the ship needed supplies as well). One could hardly blame him for forgetting things in such a state of primed anxiety. He was just being a pirate after all.

The Black Pearl had docked at Tortuga for five days, and Jack had enjoyed five full days' of riotous debauching when he uncovered ('stumbled across' being a more accurate description) a more deadly conversation.

That night, when nature called, he careened out to the dimly lit and very 'fragrant' back alley of the tavern for a quick piss. He was in a drunken, er, make that more-drunk-than-usual-state and was fumbling with his breeches when he overheard the word 'treasure'.

It was remarkable how quickly Captain Jack Sparrow could sober up when he had an incentive.

He poked his head around the corner, and his gaze was drawn to the open window of the neighboring building. Through the square of candlelight spilling from the window, he spotted two scallywags talking in that telltale manner of conspiring, their body languages tense and furtive. One of the cads suddenly held up a hand; he hastened over to the window and closed the shutters.

That was his mistake.

The closing of the shutters only fired Jack's curiosity even more. His revelry forgotten, the ever-opportunistic pirate captain tiptoed through the filthy darkness to the shuttered window. Making sure to stay in the darkness, Jack put one eye to a crack between the slates of the shutters.

He had never seen the two seedy characters before but that was all right. It was what they were saying that interest him, not their faces.

"Ar' ye daft?" one of them was hissing in agitation. "This is Jack Sparrow ye're talkin' 'bout! Ye're daft!"

Jack scowled at the shuttered window. Captain, it's Captain Jack Sparrow.

"He knows where's th' cursed treasure lies an' she obviously knows him," replied the second pirate. "It'll be a trade, a parlay. He'll take us to th' treasure an' in return, we'll give the wench back to him."

"Ye don't really expect him to stick to th' accord, do ye? He's a pirate!"

"An' we're not? Lookit this, a genteel lady willin' to brave the coarse an' dangerous pirate port to look fer him. Wench must mean somethin' to Sparrow, don't ye think?"

Genteel lady? There was only one Jack knew of, was even acquainted with in his long career as a pirate, one who was braver than two men put together and obviously prone to rash and stupid actions as well. This was starting to sound very suspiciously familiar.

"You scoundrels!" a female voice suddenly shrieked in rage. A voice Jack knew all too well, having been subjected to that particular enraged tone on a certain well-remembered island. "Wait till I get free! I'll cut your bloody throats!"

He didn't remember it sounding so bloodthirsty though.

"Ar' ye sure she's a genteel lady?" one of the pirate-kidnappers asked doubtfully. "She swears like a tavern whore."

Jack winced on his behalf. The cad ought to hold his tongue if he knows better. If she were who he thought it was, she wouldn't take kindly to be addressed as a tavern whore.

"Ne'er mind tha'. We hav' to plan how to parley wi' Jack Sparrow."

Jack stroked his braided beard thoughtfully.

So the two pirates inside wanted Cortez's treasure and they think to make use of him and the bonny lass inside to get it. Jack gave them points for sheer guts. The only problem was Jack didn't like to be forced into an accord. That just wouldn't do.

Time to do something about it.

In one smooth abrupt move, Jack yanked open the shutters and hopped up to perch on the windowsill. He smirked roguishly at the two pirates seated inside, caught off guard by his sudden entrance to react. In the far corner, he saw Elizabeth Turner tied to a chair, her murderous expression changing into one of shock and joy.

"Tho' I heard me name bandied around while passin' by," Jack drawled. "Wha' ca' I do fer ye two scallywags?"

"Get out!" one of the pirates roared and reached for his pistol.

Not too bright either, Jack noted. "Now, now, mate. Tha's no way to treat yer b'siness par'ner, is it?"

The pirates regarded him suspiciously. "Who ar' ye?"

"Me?" Jack's smirk widened. "Why, I'm Capt'n Jack Sparrow of course."

Go to Six


	6. Six

**Six**

_- Turner's spirited lass - _

The room was small, furnished with only a rickety table and a couple of equally ramshackle chairs, and lit only by a battered oil lamp with an extremely dirty shade.

Ignoring the two unprepared pirates for the time being, Jack sauntered to the corner of the room where Elizabeth Turner sat, wrists and ankles bound to the chair and a dislodged gag around her neck. She wore loose and baggy men's clothes to disguise her sex but obviously it didn't work. Tangled and disheveled strands of burnished gold fell from her tight braid and a dark bruise marred her pale beautiful face. But her dark eyes remained strong and undaunted.

"Tho' it might be ye, lass, I heard shriekin' bloody murder outside th' window. Took quite a shiner there, luv."

"Get me out of this, Jack." Elizabeth demanded. She scowled at the two pirates. "So I can gut those two properly."

"Shiver me timbers. Wha' has dear William be teachin' ye, lass?" Jack paused, seeing the look of pain crossing Elizabeth's face at the mention of her husband's name. Right then and there, Jack knew something had happened to William Turner. "No worries. Ol' Jack will resolve 'his," he said in a low voice.

He spun round with a flourish and slumped elegantly into the closest empty chair. He propped his feet up on the rickety table, folded his hands across his stomach and eyed the two nervous pirates.

They were a sorry sight, even for pirates - worse than unkempt and unwashed, with too-ragged clothes and bare cutlasses that bore pitted and dulled surfaces. They had obviously fallen on hard times, which was good for Jack – it put him in better bargaining position.

"Well?" he prompted. "I hav'n't all day."

The two pirates exchanged glances. Then the one on the left spoke, "show us tha' ye'r who ye said ye ar'."

Jack rolled his eyes but obligingly rolled up his sleeve to show off his distinctive tattoo – a sparrow flying across a sunburst.

"I'm Cole an' he's Mole," the pirate introduced.

"Cole an' Mole," Jack was amused. What mother would actually name their sons Cole and Mole? "Last I heard ye're under Black Sam Avery."

"Were," Cole corrected. "We 'cided to go into business ourselves."

"We wan' th' Cortez's gold," Mole said without preamble. "An' we're willin' to trade her fer th' gold."

"Th' gold is cursed. Why do ye want it?"

Mole stared at him. "Ye jest. Surely th' great Captain Jack Sparrow could see th' usefulness of havin' such a treasure."

Actually Jack could but he wanted to know if these two dimwitted scallywags did as well. "Enlighten me."

"Anytime we go on a raid, we take a piece of the gold. No one can kill us an' when it's all done, we simply put it back again an' voila, free to enjoy our plunder."

"Tho' tha' might be it," Jack said. "But there's just one problem, mates."

Cole frowned. "Wha's tha'?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow doesn't wan' to parley."

In a quicksilver movement, Jack had pulled out his two pistols and opened fire. He hit Cole pointblank but his other shot missed Mole. Yelping, the pirate bolted for the window. Jack was after him in an instance, his cutlass swinging out in a wide arch and bit deep into Mole's shoulder.

Mole screamed in pain. He twisted round, one shaking hand aiming his own pistol at Jack who immediately jumped out of his line of fire in the nick of time. The shot went awry and buried itself in the wall. But it was a distraction; Mole had no intention of staying to fight.

Jack lunged for the window, just to see the wounded pirate escaping through the alley and into the crowded streets of Tortuga. Knowing it was useless to give chase, Jack turned away.

"C'mon, lass. We hav' to go." He swiftly cut Elizabeth from her bonds. "Pr'tty harebrained idea they got, if ye ask me, usin' ye as barg'ining tool."

"Lame jackass," Elizabeth growled. Rubbing her raw wrists, she followed Jack to the window. She paused by Cole's dead body and gave it a good kick. "That's for calling me a tavern whore."

Jack snickered. "Aye, tha's th' spirit, lass."

Elizabeth gifted him with a tight smile and slipped out of the window after him.

Knowing full well it just wouldn't do to parade the daughter of a British governor in a pirate port, Jack brought Elizabeth back to the Black Pearl. He settled her in his cabin with a flask of wine and a full meal, and took his first good look at her since he rescued her from the pirates' clutches.

"Ye look awful, lass." And she did look worse for wear – pale, thinner than he had remembered, with dark circles under her eyes. It could been the long journey from Port Royal to Tortuga, or the stress of a genteel lady having to travel by herself unescorted, but Jack thought it was more than that. Worry clung to Elizabeth like a second skin, an anxious fear and near-desperation he could sense beneath her poised manners. Turner's spirited wife was very close to the edge and hanging there by nails and teeth. "So wha' brings ye to th' luv'ly port of Tortuga, Mrs Turner?"

"It's Will."

"I tho' jus' as much."

"He's gone mad."

"Can't say tha's a bad thing."

"I'm serious, Jack Sparrow! He needs your help."

"Do ye beli've he's mad?"

"No! Of course not! That's why I'm here, looking for you. You're the only one who can prove his sanity!"

"Best ye start at th' beg'nnin', lass."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and said, "It began more than a fortnight ago. Might have been longer than that but it only became dire then. At first it started off as just dreams, dreams that woke him in the middle of the night. Dreams that obviously bothered him because he would not go back to sleep but stay awake till dawn. When I ask him about his dreams, he would not tell me. But he was troubled by his dreams I could see it. Then one night, the dreams got worse."

She paused, her expression tightening at the memory…

Go to Seven


	7. Seven

**Seven**

_- '…Impersonating a cleric of the Church of England.' - _

He knew he was dreaming this time because Port Royal looked completely different. Even from the bow of the skiff, he could tell that the settlement was smaller, more rustic and had a lot less people. The fort, however, was still there but fortunately there were no naval ships in the docks. Even then, there were enough redcoats manning the fort to make him nervous.

"Tell me again, Captain. Why are we here?"

"B'cus we hav' a great booty to go af'er," Jack called from the helm of the skiff.

He eyed the port doubtfully. "In this place swarming with redcoats? We'll be lucky to get out alive."

"Don't w'rry 'bout tha' part. Ol' Jack got it cov'red."

Now I'm really worried, he thought gloomily.

Dream Jack must have read his mind (which, considering it was a dream, not impossible) because the pirate captain sidled up to his side and slung an arm around his shoulders. "If thangs go 'ccordin' to plan, an' it will go 'ccordin' to plan, them redcoats won't ev'n know we're here."

"And how are you going to accomplish that?" he asked drolly.

Jack flashed a gold-toothed grin and held out a pile of black cloth with a flourish.

He spread out the cloth and stared at it, then at Jack and back at it. "You're daft."

"Uh-huh. I'm Capt'n Jack Sparrow." The pirate captain tossed one of the garments to him. "Put it on, mate. We're goin' ashore."

"As priests? Captain, we don't _look_ like priests, especially you."

"Ah, people pay atte'tion to th' cloth, not to th' man wearin' th' cloth. Hence, no one will think us to be anythin' else but men of th' cloth. Savvy?"

He raised an eyebrow over that questionable piece of logic and reluctantly pulled on the black cassock over his clothes.

Jack had already donned his cassock and he looked…passable. Somewhat rough around the edges but passable. After all, there were men of the cloth in the Caribbean who were even rougher looking. He had seen them – priests with bad manners, bad teeth and an atrocious tongue that really mangled God's word. Poorly educated folk who had found their calling in spreading God's message to the natives of the Caribbean. Questionable really, but still they had taken the vows and were men of the cloth. Compared to them, Jack appeared a saint – a somewhat questionable-looking saint with questionable values but still more saintly-looking than some he had come across.

So this should be plain sailing. Right?

He eyed his captain's hair. As long as Jack keeps his wild dreadlocked hair under his hat, he wouldn't (hopefully) have problems passing off as a priest, right?

His gaze traveled down to Jack's fingers. If Jack ditched all those rings on his grimy fingers, he might still be passable, right?

Finally his gaze settled on his madcap captain's smirking countenance. If Jack quit grinning and flashing those blasted gold teeth, he would definitely be able to pull this off, right?

"It will be a miracle if we get out of this place alive," he said at last.

Jack grinned. "Ye look smashin'."

"And you ought to keep from smiling," he retorted grumpily. "Those gold teeth will give you away in a heartbeat."

Jack's manic grin widened.

_Oh God, if you can hear me, please let this be a lark._

Disguised as clergymen, both pirates entered Port Royal with no fanfare. He kept his head down and hands clasped inside the wide sleeves, adopting the proper demeanor of a priest. But he was very tense. They had been forced to leave their cutlasses behind on the skiff, seeing as how men of the cloth did not bear arms. Although he had managed to conceal a pistol under his robes, he still felt very naked.

His captain wasn't doing much to alleviate his nervousness. The crazy old sea dog had spent way too much time on the sea and it showed in his reeling gait. No one, he swore on the pain of death, no one would _ever_ mistake the pirate captain for a priest. But somehow, he didn't understand how, they managed to slip pass the attention of the redcoats.

That was disturbing.

Either somehow their disguises were really working or the redcoats were not doing their job. He preferred to think the latter.

The dream blurred, as dreams were wont to do.

One minute he was walking down a street, the next he found himself running for his life with his captain matching him stride for stride and his cassock hitched up for easy movement.

"What the hell did you do?" he seemed to be yelling at his captain.

"Nuthin'!" Jack shouted back. "I only talked to tha' bonny wench!"

"More like insulting the lass's modesty, I reckon!" And knowing his captain, it was probably not far from the truth. He yelped as a bullet whizzed way too close past his ear. "You're supposed to be a priest! And priests do not outrage the modesty of women!"

"Quit yappin' an' keep runnin', mate! We've to lose these buggers b'fer we can leave this bloody isle!" Jack ducked down and shimmied past a low archway with his usual slippery grace. "I ain't came al' this way to die at th' hands of these redcoats!"

Cursing mentally at their – or rather, Jack's unpredictable luck, he pounded through the streets of Port Royal and out into the jungle wilderness. He would never _EVER_ follow his captain on one of his crazy jaunts again, never _EVER_ be fooled by Jack's nonchalant, casual 'come wit' me an' we'll hav' a whale of a time' invitation again.

No sirree.

He heard the crack of a rifle behind him and suddenly he stumbled. Pain flared –

Will woke up with a gasp of agony, clutching at his side.

…_hurthurthurt…_

And it did hurt. In that moment of confusion, Will thought he had really been shot. He curled up in agony, gritting his teeth against the fire burning through his body. Just a dream, he thought frantically, blinking back the tears in his eyes. It's only a dream.

A cool hand touched his burning sweaty cheek. "Will?" came the worried voice of his wife. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he managed to choke out.

"Nothing?" Elizabeth did not believe him. She sat up and turned him around until he lay on his back. With anxious hands, she tried to remove his hands clutching his side. "Where are you hurting? Tell me, Will!"

"I'm all right," he managed to reply in a more normal tone, panting harshly. He took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. The pain was abating and he finally allowed his hands to be tugged away and his shirt to be pulled up. He didn't have to look to know what she would find: whole unmarred skin.

"I don't see a wound," Elizabeth said in a puzzled voice. "But you act as though you had been stabbed."

He reached up and smoothed back a fallen lock of her hair. "A nightmare, Elizabeth. Just a nightmare."

His wife stared worriedly at him, fingers lightly stroking the unmarred skin. "A nightmare doesn't cause you to wake up in pain, Will. It has to be more than that."

"I'm fine, Elizabeth. Really, I am."

"Will, you have been having nightmares for the past week! That is not fine."

Will winced mentally. He had thought he managed to hide his nightly disturbances from his wife. "They're just dreams, Elizabeth. Nothing to worry about."

The minute the words left his mouth, Will knew at once it was the wrong thing to say to his wife.

"Nothing to worry about? I'm your wife! We share everything, including happiness and woe. And this classify as woe. You will tell me right now, William Turner, or I'll have you sleeping in the garden!"

"Interesting."

"'Interesting' is hardly the word I would use, Jack. He frightened me badly."

Jack flapped his hands, making vague soothing gestures at the ruffled lady. "Aye, aye. Go on, go on."

"Will told me that he had been dreaming of his father every night recently, vivid dreams that felt like a story being unfolded than being just normal dreams. He said he was never himself in these dreams, that he always took on the role of his father."

"Well, that's ce'tainly some dreams he's been havin'," Jack remarked.

"That was what he said too," Elizabeth admitted. "He tried to laugh it off but I know it bothered him. But I didn't think it was anything serious. They were just dreams, after all. Then the dreams started intruding into his waking moments."

"How's tha'?"

"Will still continues his blacksmithing work, much to my father's disapproval. He could never give up something he likes to do."

"Aye, tha's me lad." Jack nodded sagely.

Elizabeth smiled. "He made a sword for you."

Jack brightened instantly. "Really?"

"Yes. It's a very nice shiny sword inlaid with gold filigree and a nice shiny ruby. And it has your initials on it – CJS."

"Well, fancy tha'," Jack sighed dreamily. "Me very own Turner blade. An' he 'member th' 'C'." He looked at Elizabeth with bright hopeful black eyes. "I don't s'ppose ye brought it wi' ye, lass."

"Into this port? I'm not daft, Jack."

"Jus' checkin'. Wouldn't wan' to go af'er some lout fer me property I've ne'er even laid me eyes on yet. Go on wi' yer story."

"I remember that day very clearly, when it finally became clear to me that unnatural trouble had found my Will again…"

Go to Eight


	8. Eight

**Eight**

_-'Am I a butterfly who dreams it's a man, or a man who dreams he's a butterfly?' - _

Elizabeth hummed cheerily under her breath as she walked down the streets of Port Royal with her maid trailing behind her holding a large picnic basket. Many of Port Royal's denizens paused to greet her and she returned their greetings with a smile and a nod.

She was on her way to Will's smithy, looking forward to the afternoon tea they would have together. Despite her father's pleas, Will refused to give up his work and Elizabeth was happy to see her husband's craft and business booming.

Pushing open the sturdy door, Elizabeth peered into the smithy, smiling when she spotted her husband standing at the forge, motionless and probably deep in thought. He hadn't noticed her presence yet.

A playful impulse took over her. "Go," she whispered quietly to her maid. "Have the afternoon off. I want to spend some time alone with my husband."

Her maid tittered softly. "It's not proper, milady!"

"Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. We're married and we're simply obeying God's commandment, that's all. Now shoo."

Still giggling, her maid curtsied and stepped away. "I'll be back at five, milady."

"Yes, yes." Picnic basket in hand, Elizabeth slipped silently into the smithy. She tiptoed up to her still husband, smirking when she realized he had not discovered her presence yet. Putting the picnic basket down, she carefully stretched up and covered his eyes with her hands. "Guess who?"

Will remained still and unresponsive.

Frowning, Elizabeth peeked at her husband's face. "Will?" What she saw made her heart skipped with alarm.

Will stood there – unmoving, unstaring – a hammer in one hand and a half-crafted lump of iron in his other. His face was blank and lax, his eyes…Elizabeth shivered. His open eyes were staring into nothing, the brown orbs blank and lifeless.

She stared at her husband. She got the surreal sensation that Will was not in the smithy with her; that she was looking at a wax mannequin instead. It was as though Will was dead.

That thought made her panic. "Will!" She called his name urgently, shaking him as hard as she could. "Will! Can you hear me? What's wrong with you? Will!"

Frightened, Elizabeth stepped back and resorted to the last measure. She swung her hand back and slapped her husband.

It worked.

Relief flooded her when Will suddenly became reanimated. There was no other word to describe the life flowing back into her husband. He blinked, staring at his wife in confused bewilderment as he rubbed his stinging cheek. "Elizabeth? Wha-? What time is it?"

Elizabeth stared at him, her fear rapidly returning. "Will, it's already mid-afternoon."

"What?" Will looked around, his disoriented gaze resting for a moment on the shadows on the floor of the smithy. He had spent enough time in his workplace to be able to tell the time of the day by the position of the shadows on the floor. And his wife was right – it was already mid-afternoon. "So long…"

Despite her fear, Elizabeth was quick to put two and two together. "Will, this is not the first time it happened, is it?"

Will did not reply. He averted his gaze.

"Tell me!"

He nodded reluctantly.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Just a couple of days, I think."

"A couple of days? And you didn't bother to tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry," Will answered defensively. "I can manage. It hasn't really affected anything."

"Will, this is serious. I found you standing here motionless like a mannequin. If I didn't know better, if I hadn't touched you, I would've thought you were dead!"

Will winced.

Elizabeth took her husband by his hand. "Will, can you remember anything about these missing periods of time?"

Will hesitated and said slowly, "it's the dreams."

"The dreams? But they only happen at night, when you're sleeping!"

"They still do but it's gotten worse." Will sat down on a bench, pulling his wife down to sit next to him. "They're spilling into my waking moments now."

"Are they still dreams of your father?"

Will nodded. "As vivid as those I have at night. I never know when they would come. One minute I could be doing something, the next thing I know, I have lost a big amount of time. And all that I could remember was the dream I had." He looked at his wife. "Was I sleeping when you found me?"

"No. You were standing upright. You looked as though you were in a trance except…"

"Except what?"

"Will, it felt as though I was standing next to your corpse!"

Will blanched and immediately brought his distraught wife into his embrace. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's going on."

"It's not your fault." She leaned against him for comfort. "We have to find a cure."

"How?" Will shrugged helplessly.

"The dreams could be trying to tell you something," Elizabeth suggested.

Will's brows furrowed as he thought carefully. "If it is, I'm not getting any understanding from it."

"We can't let anyone else know about this. If anyone else were to find out, if my father find out, they will either think you have gone mad or are possessed."

"Either way, I'll end up in the asylum." Will finished her thought, expression growing grim.

"No one will believe you, except for me. And there would be naught I can do to help you. We have to keep this a secret for as long as we can, until we can figure out a way to end it."

"Obviously th' cat was let out of th' bag."

"Yes, about three weeks later. My father threw a dinner party one night and we were obliged to attend. Will fell into a waking dream during the party in front of so many witnesses. We could not hide it anymore. My father demanded to know what was going on and we had no choice but to tell him."

"An' dear Governor Swann d'cided Will was ill an' sent fer th' doctor, who tho' Will had gone mad," Jack finished for her grimly.

Elizabeth nodded unhappily. "Because he's my husband, they did not commit him to the asylum. But they locked Will up in a room at our house, with barred window and a heavy lock on the door. They took away his freedom despite his pleas, chained him down like a dog when he resisted. They…they…"

She started to cry, the stress of constant worrying and build-up frustration over the long hellish weeks finally getting to her. Jack shifted over to her chair and patted her comfortingly on her shoulder.

"I'm at my wit's end, Jack. And so is Will. He doesn't know what is happening to him anymore than I do and it's scaring him just as much. You have to help him, Jack. Please!"

"Aye, lass. Ye got ol' Jack's promise on this. No one locks up me lad an' expects to get a'ay wi' it. Is he still at Port Royal?"

"Yes. He's all alone and at the mercy of the doctor. He couldn't leave with me. He refused to, saying he would be more of a hinder than help. I didn't want to leave him but he pled for me to look for you. 'Get Jack,' he told me. 'He's the only one who can help me now.' I had to beg a favor from James to keep Will safe until my return."

"James?"

"Commodore Norrington. He and Will have managed to learn how to get along." Elizabeth clutched at Jack's hand. "Will you come with me to Port Royal?"

"Ye know I will, lass. Ain't nothin' I won't do fer ye an' Will – well, make tha' nearly nothin'."

"And you believe me right?" she asked frantically. "You believe that Will isn't insane, right?"

"Aye, lass, I do. Will ain't mad, tha much I can tell ye."

"Good! Then you can tell that to the doctor and they can set Will free."

Jack shook his head. "Not so simple, Mrs Turner. One, I'm a pirate an' my word means nuthin' to them landlubbers. Second, we hav' to pr've Will's sanity or no one will e'er believe him sane."

"But how are we going to prove his sanity?" asked Elizabeth vexed. "And why are you so certain he's not insane?"

"B'cus tha' dream ye told me 'bout is true."

"Pardon?"

"It did happ'ned. A long time ago, I snuck into Port Royal wi' Bootstrap Bill at me side, disg'ised as clergymen."

Elizabeth stared at him.

"An' Bill did get shot while escapin'."


End file.
